Fame

by Susan X Meagher

  “She did,” Piper said, relief flooding her. “She was only trying to help, but I swear I had no idea she’d pulled you into this until I read your email. None,” she stressed.

  “Okay,” Haley said, her smile still stiff and polite. “We don’t have to beat that to death. Let’s just put it aside and move forward.”

  Piper stopped, her legs a little rubbery. “What does that mean?”

  “We’ll act like that whole thing didn’t happen. Now that I believe it wasn’t your fault, it doesn’t have to be a thing between us.”

  Still stuck in place, Piper forced herself to speak. “But if you believe me…” She swallowed nervously. “Can’t we get back to where we were?”

  “You want to?” Haley asked, moving a little closer and looking into Piper’s eyes.

  “God, yes!” She reached for Haley, who glided right out of her grasp.

  “That’s…” She bit at her lip, now showing some of the emotion that Piper had been craving like a drug. “That’s just not possible,” she said quietly.

  “Why?” Piper reached for her again, but Haley had started to walk, head down, shoulders slightly slumped.

  Hurrying to catch up, Piper respectfully didn’t try to touch her again. But she wanted to. Damn, she wanted to.

  Quietly, her voice barely carrying over the breaking surf, Haley said, “I can’t think of a better illustration of why I don’t want to fall for someone in the business.”

  “Oh, Haley, come on! We had a relatively minor miscommunication.” At Haley’s sharp look, she backtracked. “It wasn’t minor in its impact, but it was minor. My sister mentioned something and it took on a life of its own. She’s promised she won’t get involved again, and I know she’ll try hard to keep that promise. Really.”

  “That’s not the point, Piper, and the fact that you can’t see this is perfectly understandable.” She stopped and put her hand on Piper’s arm, the skin tingling beneath her gentle touch. “You’ve been around the business for a lot of years, but you haven’t been at this level. It’s a different game now.”

  “That’s what people keep telling me, but I don’t see it. I’m not going to change. If you were into me two weeks ago, there’s no reason you can’t be into me now.”

  “Yes, there is,” she said, her voice breaking. As if she couldn’t help herself, Haley moved into Piper’s embrace. As her arms folded around her body, Piper felt her tremble, then start to shake with tears. “I wish I could make you understand,” she said, sounding absolutely miserable.

  Piper closed her eyes, blotting out the sun, the beautiful waves, cresting with frothy white foam dotting their peaks, the other people just starting to claim a place on the pristine sand, and the little dog who sat on his back legs and insistently tapped at her shin with his front paws. All she felt was Haley’s warm, sumptuous body, right back where it belonged, in her arms.

  But as strong as the pull was, she couldn’t ignore the tears. Gently patting her back, she nuzzled her face against Haley’s neck, whispering, “Tell me. Make me understand.”

  A tear-streaked face looked up at her. “It’s the system,” she said, sniffling. “Without any bad intent on Charlie’s part, I lost my job and was sent thousands of miles away—with no warning. A guy I trusted threatened to fire me if I didn’t comply, Piper. And this was all because of a minor miscommunication.” She grasped Piper by the shoulders and shook her. “Imagine what Charlie could do if she tried.”

  “But she won’t! She promised!”

  “She will,” Haley said, sounding wrung-out, exhausted. “Maybe not on purpose. But things will happen. She’ll make compromises. Everyone does. Then she’ll start to expect that she can have whatever she wants. It’ll seem like she’s just living her life, but other people will break their necks to give her what she wants. That will affect you too, Piper, and anyone you’re involved with.” She shook her gently. “I can’t have that again. I simply can’t.”

  “As soon as this movie’s over, I’ll go back to cutting hair,” Piper pledged. “I will, Haley. I’ve already told Charlie that.”

  Her head was shaking before Piper finished speaking. “I know you believe that. But if you do a good job, she’ll talk you into staying. And you will,” she added, her eyes turning cold. “It’s irresistible, Piper. Trust me.”

  “What if I resist it?” she demanded, knowing she sounded frantic. “If I go back to cutting hair, will you give me another chance?”

  “I don’t think so,” Haley said, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Piper could see it as clear as day. “I truly don’t want to be on that merry-go-round. Even if you go back to your old life, you’ll get sucked in at some point.” She patted Piper gently on the side. “The only way you’ll be free is if this movie tanks, and given what I’ve seen so far, Tim Banks isn’t about to let that happen.”

  “I don’t want the movie to tank,” Piper said. “It would kill me to see my sister’s career go up in flames.”

  “I know,” Haley soothed, burrowing in for another hug. “Believe me, I know.”

  ***

  For the next two hours they walked, with Piper finally having to carry Delta, who’d burned through every bit of his energy reserves. It wasn’t possible to keep things light, and Haley couldn’t bear to see the pain etched upon Piper’s lovely features. So they didn’t talk much at all. They also didn’t hold hands or even walk very close together. They were trying for a soft landing, but that was easier said than done.

  They’d both invested a lot in their fledgling relationship, and it was going to take a while, maybe a long while, to get over their longing for it to continue. But Haley had made up her mind. If they stayed together, she’d begin to resent Charlie, and that would never work. Piper would always defend her little sister. She’d already made that clear.

  As they walked, Haley kept getting a clear mental image of Charlie’s beautiful face. She seemed so innocent on many levels. But the woman had a driving ambition that had brought her this far. Every single actor of any caliber had it, and Charlie couldn’t possibly be the exception. Even though Haley didn’t know her well, there was no way fame wouldn’t eat away at her seemingly sweet veneer, exposing the flaws that everyone had, but could usually hide. That wasn’t an option for celebrities. Every craven desire was enlarged. Every nasty impulse given fuel until it burned white-hot. Piper truly didn’t have a choice at this point. She couldn’t turn her back on her baby sister. But Haley could. And for both of their sakes, she was going to.

  ***

  Late in the afternoon, they returned to the hotel, both of them flushed and tired from their long walk in the sun. Piper started to enter the lobby, but Haley called her back. “I’m going to get going,” she said, her beautiful dark eyes filled with sadness.

  All Piper wanted to do was whisk that sadness away. She would have done anything in her power to put the glittering optimism that had resided in those eyes just over two weeks ago right back into them. But she didn’t have that kind of power. Not even close.

  “We’ll get through this,” Haley said, looking up at her.

  “I’m not as sure of that as you are.”

  “I’m not sure of it either,” Haley sighed. “Are you willing to try to be friends?”

  “Um…” She stuck her free hand in the pocket of her shorts and jangled her change for a few moments, thinking. “I want to be, but…”

  Haley patted her arm, nodding. “I understand. We’ll just see how it goes.” She leaned in and gave Delta a kiss on the head, then looked up at Piper again. There was a longing in her eyes that Piper wanted to reach in and grab. To force her to work to break through whatever fears or insecurities she had about their future. But she was quickly learning you couldn’t make a woman love you. She had to want to—and Haley had clearly decided she wasn’t willing to even try.

  ***

  On Monday morning, Piper’s alarm nearly made her fly out of bed. Opening one baleful eye, she saw the dreaded hour. The do
ofus who decided to stay in a place that required a trip to the airport, along with a helicopter ride every morning was at the top of her shit-list. Having to get up at this time of day might truly slay her.

  Charlie was a bucket of sunshine, as usual, skipping around the suite, whipping Delta into a frenzy.

  “Did you take him out?” Piper asked, when she shuffled into the living room, her voice low and raspy.

  “Yep. He’s ready to go.” She grabbed the dog and held him up over her face. “Who’s excited about going on a helicopter ride, huh? You are! Yes, you are!”

  “Shower,” Piper grumbled, heading back to her room to try to inject the slightest bit of cheerfulness into herself. Probably a futile wish, but she had to try.

  She’d spent most of Sunday in bed, refusing all of Charlie’s entreaties to see the sights. Thankfully, she and Zandra took off with Delta, spending the whole day shopping, stopping for coffee, and getting massages. By the time they’d returned, Piper had composed a story she successfully sold, convincing Charlie that she and Haley had amicably decided to call it quits. Charlie didn’t ask many questions, which was rare for her. But Piper was fairly sure she’d bought the story, and would hopefully let it drop. Now all Piper had to do was get over a broken heart while seeing the object of her desire every god damn day.

  ***

  Two hours later, with Delta having been handed off to Zandra, Piper gazed into the mirror in the hair and makeup cabin, assessing Charlie’s locks. It was harder than you’d think to make a woman look like she’d been at sea for weeks, while still keeping her attractive. That was the goal in every single scene ever shot in the history of cinematography. Go for as much realism as possible, but not at the risk of making a good-looking woman unattractive.

  The room was bustling, with the other nine chairs full of actors, only a few Piper had ever seen before. She’d just learned this cabin was for the principals, with trailers set up on the outside of the camp for the less important people to have their hair done. That made sense, since the principals would be the ones the cameras focused on, but it just underscored the hierarchy she was always a little irked by. Films and TV sets were built on the premise that a few people mattered a whole lot, and that everyone else was there to make them happy.

  As she looked around, she had to admit that Tim had been smart, spending his budget on the location and special effects rather than high-profile actors. Sierra Vickers, the actor Charlie had replaced, was just slightly better known than Charlie. But if the movie hit, you could go from “who’s that?” to the cover of every magazine and gossip rag in a snap.

  Everyone was friendly, with that instant “we’ve known each other for years” thing that actors always did, but they were also pretty sober, mulling over their lines and going through whatever process they used to get ready.

  As for Charlie, she only memorized long passages of dialogue. On a day like today, where she’d just have normal bits of conversation, she liked to read it for the first time while the camera was being set up for the shot, then let it flow. Piper would have been a nervous wreck basically winging it, but Charlie liked to imagine she was actually thinking of the words, and she did that best when she’d only read it once. Luckily, she had a fantastic memory, able to retain a couple of pages without fail.

  If the other actors had been looser, Charlie would have been chatting them all up. But she was very respectful of her co-workers, so she played a game on her phone while listening to music through her earbuds.

  At 5:30, a PA knocked on the door. “Ms. Summers?” she said, not opening the door all the way.

  “She’s ready,” Piper said. Extending a hand, she helped Charlie from the chair, then walked her over to the door so they could have a private moment. “Ready to rip it up?” she asked quietly.

  A huge smile lit Charlie’s face like a switch had been flipped. “I am.”

  “Why’s that?” Tears came to Piper’s eyes as she let the import of this day hit her. Her little sister was about to become a star.

  “’Cause I rock,” she declared, spouting the same line she’d been tossing back at Piper since she went on her first commercial audition when she was three. Throwing her arms around Piper, she gave her a forceful hug, murmuring into her ear, “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

  Piper summoned all of her control to avoid bawling. “Mom would be so proud of you.”

  “I know,” Charlie said, giving Piper another hug. “No matter how far this takes me, I’ll always be a pesky kid whose mom let her do what made her happy.” She looked up to the sky, her voice breaking when she whispered, “Thanks, Mom.” Then she tightened the tie that held her robe closed and exited.

  “Break a leg,” Piper said, holding the door open to keep an eye on her until she got into the Jeep. It was as hard to watch her drive away as it had been to see the brave little thing hold her chin up high and walk into kindergarten that first day. Their mom was dreadfully sick by then, and Piper had to protect the kid as much as she could, trying her best to give her a normal childhood. All these years later, she hadn’t been able to curb that instinct. Piper wanted to hold on, to protect her from harm, to keep her safe and innocent forever—a goal that was going to get tougher every damn day.

  ***

  Since she’d been hired to be Charlie’s personal hairdresser, Piper had to be on set whenever Charlie was. But she didn’t want to push her insider status too forcefully, so she hung back and rode over with the other stylists and makeup artists. They arrived at the beach, today’s location, well before the cameras rolled.

  The set-up surprised her. Piper had been on sound stages when Charlie was a young sitcom actor, but she’d never seen a movie set. A gaggle of people were clustered around the beached sailboat, but well off to the side. Tim sat under a big, sturdy canopy, with computers and monitors and all sorts of gear covered with plastic to keep the sand out. She couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t near the camera, which also didn’t look like she’d imagined it would. Then she realized they were probably shooting digitally, not needing those big reels that traditional film cameras held.

  Looking past the crew, she spied her sister. Charlie looked great—or as great as you could look while you were supposed to look bedraggled. She sat in her beat up sailboat, the sails flailing around in the gentle breeze. Piper moved past a couple of big guys to fuss with her hair, making sure she had enough product in it to keep it out of Charlie’s eyes. The makeup woman brushed another hint of powder on her face, and she was ready to go. They stood back, well behind the director of photography and his assistant and the gaffer and the key grip and the best boy and every other pro who’d done this a million times before. But even though they were all seasoned vets, there was a definite air of excitement that had to be because it was the first day of the shoot.

  Ten actors stood on the beach, all of them but Charlie dressed in clothing that had been fashioned out of natural materials. The wardrobe department and the set designers had worked their butts off to create costumes that let the actors move comfortably, while keeping them decent. No nip slips allowed.

  The DP looked carefully at the monitor attached to the camera. He wore big headphones, probably to allow him to take instruction from Tim. When he called out “Rolling,” a guy held the LED clapper in front of the camera. In the blink of an eye, Charlie was a seventeen-year-old kid, surrounded by a bunch of hairy, dirty strangers. Her jaw quivered, then she spoke her first line of dialogue, her voice breaking right on cue. “I’ve got a gun.”

  ***

  Piper avidly watched as they nailed the first scene in three takes. They stayed on script, repeating the exact words time and again, something she knew Charlie preferred. The director of Delta Epsilon Forever had formerly been a stand-up comedian, and he allowed his actors to go off-script as much as they wanted. Charlie had hated that, insisting that if she’d had the talent to write a screenplay, she would’ve done that instead of having to worry about an extra few pounds or an extra f
ew years killing her career.

  When they were setting up for the next shot, Piper said, “Great work this morning. I totally bought every word that came out of your mouth.”

  “Thanks,” Charlie said, giving her a satisfied smirk.

  “You’ve got this,” Piper insisted. “Um, do you have any idea when you’re going to have to work with animals?”

  “Not a clue,” Charlie said, sticking her lower lip out in sympathy. “I still haven’t seen the complete script. I only got today’s sides.”

  Piper gripped her shoulder as she stood. “You wouldn’t read it if you had it.”

  “True,” Charlie said, wrinkling up her nose. “But I’d like to see the last page to make sure I’m still alive. Just because they claim they’re going to make sequels doesn’t mean they’re going to revolve around me.”

  Piper appreciated Charlie’s modesty, but if this movie made money, a whole lot of things would revolve around her baby sister.

  ***

  They stayed in roughly the same spot from six a.m. to seven p.m., with Charlie occasionally taking respite from the sun in a tent furnished with comfy chairs and a massage table for napping. They got three unconnected scenes finished, each needing a change of costume. For the last one, which took place months after Charlie had washed up on shore, she had to shimmy into a body stocking covered with woven strips of palm, ostensibly held together with hand-made twine. Audiences were supposed to believe that someone living in such a spartan, survivalist fashion had taken the time to make sure the garment hugged her waist, making her breasts look bigger.

  Piper had to work hard to clip some hair extensions in just perfectly. An assistant made a note of everything she did, logging it all so it could be recreated when the chronology called for another shot taken on Eve’s ninetieth day on the island. Then they took photographs of Charlie’s head from every angle, delicately measuring exactly how long the extensions made her hair. Anyone who said making movies was easy had never made one. They might be poorly written or badly directed or acted—but they weren’t easy.